Born in Mainz in1971, Juliane Hundertmark stages conventional situations in private rooms, gardens and public meeting places. We immediately recognize these venues. She adds a title in small and large letters to almost every picture. We think we quickly comprehend these too, but we soon become doubtful when we find “Mutation” written above a scene in a living room or “Delicatessen” above a dining table. It’s delightful to see the complex shapes into which viewers contort themselves when they are confronted by these artworks. The subjects are clearly portrayed; the only reason why most beholders can’t cope with the interpretation of beings that are soon recognizable as Homo sapiens is that these viewers want to understand themselves throughout their lives “aesthetically” and not as grotesque figurines.

A disturbing chromatic intelligence distinguishes Hundertmark’s maturely composed artworks. The almost awkward treatment of the surfaces, the seemingly provisional character and the clumsiness of the protagonists: everything seems to contradict scrumptious indulgence in pictorial pleasure. The titles do the rest: Sigmund Freud would have enjoyed these pictures. We spend every day busily sorting out our lives, obeying contemporary constraints, suppressing the truth and typically opting for “political correctness” rather than calling a spade a spade. Juliane Hundertmark turns each of our lives into a crime scene. Without giving room to repression, she lets the reality of our own being flow towards us without much artificial staging.